


The Usual

by Enterprisingly



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, F/M, Fluff, Happy-Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterprisingly/pseuds/Enterprisingly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe without reapers, Garrus went searching for adventure across the galaxy but instead found himself working as a barista in a café on Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Usual

It had not been his intention, when Garrus left Palaven, to wind up on Earth. He had gone to get out from under the thumb of his father and to look for a grand interplanetary adventure, but had instead learned that it was actually easier for a young, naïve turian to lose credits than to find much in the way of adventure these days. That was how he found himself stranded on Earth with nothing to his name, but the clothes on his back. The café where he finally managed to land a job was small but quite popular amongst the locals and after a while, Garrus realized that he actually enjoyed working there. 

There was a woman who came into the café, around the same time that his shift began, at least twice a week. She was a redhead with a dusting of freckles across her nose, and green eyes that crinkled up at the corners when she smiled. Garrus didn’t know her name, but he knew her usual order: a cappuccino with skim milk and a blueberry muffin. She had been coming to the café for nearly three months and she had never once ordered anything different. 

The two-seater table in the corner by the window was unofficially hers. She hadn’t ever said anything about it, but after a while Garrus noticed that she liked to sit there and had taken it upon himself to ensure that, if it was unoccupied when he got to work, it remained that way until she arrived. After a few weeks of this, his manager, a retired Alliance soldier named Armando Bailey who- though he had traded in his gun for an espresso machine- still treated his employees like his private army of baristas and pastry chefs, had gotten annoyed with Garrus over this particular initiative. To be fair, Garrus’s methods of keeping people away from the table ranged from leaving dirty cups and dishes there, to flat out lurking around it, doing his best to appear as intimidatingly alien as possible.

“Even though it’s been 30 years since the damn war ended, you know as well as I do that turians on Earth are still rare as hell.” Baily had said. He also told Garrus that he wasn’t doing himself, his species, or the café’s profits any favors by prowling around like a velociraptor- which Garrus had to admit was an appropriate comparison after he looked up what a velcoiraptor actually was- and scaring innocent customers.

A few days later, when Garrus came into work, he noticed a small, white placard on the table, with the word “Reserved” printed across it. No one sat at the table and Baily said nothing more on the subject. When the redhead next came into the café and saw it, a frown crossed her face and she turned away to look for another table.

“It’s- uh, it’s reserved for you! The table. That is.” He stuttered, as he almost tripped over his own feet in his hurry to get out from behind the counter. 

That garbled sentence was the first thing he ever said to her that did not involve asking for her order or her credit chit. If turians were capable of blushing, his face would have been burning. Since they were not, Garrus was thankfully spared that indignity, but it didn’t do much to stop him from wanting to kick himself. He felt a strong drive to impress the redheaded woman and unless humans were even stranger than he thought, confusing them with placards and subsequently stammering at them wasn’t the way to go about doing that. 

Against the odds, though, she smiled at him, eyes crinkling happily, and said: “Thank you.”

A joyous, swooping feeling briefly took hold of his entire body, but turian that he was, Garrus forced it aside in order to perform his duty. “I assume you want your usual?” He asked.

“You know me so well.” She sat down at the table and grinned up at him. 

His mandibles flared wide as he returned the smile. “Well… I know where you like to sit and what you like to eat, but I still don’t know your name. I’m Garrus Vakarian, by the way, Turian barista extraordinaire.” He held out his hand. 

She laughed and shook it. “Jane Shepard; I own the tropical fish store down the street. It’s nice to meet you properly, Garrus.”

Jane’s hand was tiny and had far too many fingers, but it was warm and Garrus found himself reluctant to let go of it.

“Vakarian! Stop flirting and get back to work!” Bailey’s voice was an unwelcome intrusion into an otherwise perfect moment, but Jane just laughed again, so Garrus shrugged at her and made his way back behind the counter. A sizeable line had formed while he had been talking with her, but he still took the time to make her coffee and get her muffin before he dealt with anyone else.

After all, none of them had flame red hair or green eyes that crinkled up when they smiled, so they would just have to wait.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about setting this in a bar, but I just really like the idea of Garrus working in a cafe. (Also bars get sad too fast.)


End file.
